7

The elevator rose with a soft hum while I balanced the heavy tray against my palm. My legs felt unsteady in the narrow space, but I blamed the long shift and the hours I had spent moving between floors. Shane’s texts had been coming every twenty minutes, and I had ignored every one of them. The scarf sat looser around my neck than he preferred because I had not tightened it again after the last inspection.

My phone vibrated before the elevator reached the upper floor. I pulled it out with my free hand and saw the message.

‘Where are you?’ – Shane

I locked the screen without answering and slipped the phone into my pocket. The hallway up here felt quieter than the rest of the hotel, with thick carpet under my shoes and only the distant movement of staff beyond the service corridor. I walked toward the suite, adjusted my grip on the tray, and stopped outside the door long enough to straighten my uniform.

Two knocks brought an answer from inside.

“Come in,” a rough voice called.

I used my key card and pushed the door open. The living area lights were dim, and the man stood near the balcony doors with one hand resting against the frame. He turned slowly when I stepped inside, and I saw his face properly for the first time. His features were sharp, but his eyes looked unfocused, and a thin layer of sweat covered his forehead despite the cool room.

“Room service,” I said, keeping my voice professional as I carried the tray toward the table. “The kitchen sent up the grilled chicken and vegetables you requested.”

He watched me for a moment before gesturing toward the table. I crossed the room and placed the tray down carefully, then adjusted the plates so nothing sat too close to the edge. His hand remained on the back of a chair while I worked, and when I straightened, he was still watching me.

“You were on the floor earlier,” he said, his words slightly slower than they should have been. “Handling the guests.”

I folded my hands in front of me and nodded. “I am covering VIP support tonight because we are short staffed.”

He lowered himself into the chair with some effort and rubbed his temple. The movement made him wince, and I wondered if the noise and pressure downstairs had finally caught up with him. There had been enough tension around the gala all evening to make anyone tired.

“Sit for a minute,” he said, pointing toward the chair opposite him.

I hesitated, glancing toward the door. Protocol said to keep guest interactions brief, especially when I had a floor waiting for me, but something in his voice made me pull out the chair. I sat without taking off my tablet, keeping it against my thigh as though that made the decision more professional.

“I really should get back to the floor,” I said, looking toward the hallway. “They are short staffed with the gala in full swing.”

He picked up the fork but did not eat. Instead, he turned it slowly between his fingers and looked toward the quiet windows. He asked if I worked events like this often, and I told him I did enough of them to know that the busiest part was usually everything nobody noticed.

“Often enough,” I said, settling back slightly. “Corporate galas are the busiest because there are too many moving pieces.”

He gave a faint smile and set the fork down. His attention shifted back to me as he asked whether I saw much from where I worked. I shrugged and told him I mostly saw what guests needed, while everything else stayed between the groups involved.

He leaned back and studied me for another moment. He said most people tried to guess what was happening when powerful groups gathered in one place, but I seemed more interested in keeping glasses full and doors open. I almost smiled because that was probably the closest anyone had come to describing my job correctly.

“My name is Stellan,” he said after a pause, resting one hand against the table. “And you are?”

“Adeline,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“Adeline,” he repeated, as though testing the name. His gaze dropped briefly to my neck before returning to my face, and he pointed toward the scarf. “You tied that pretty tight tonight.”

My hand went to the fabric without thinking. I told him it was part of the uniform and that everyone on the floor wore the same thing. He leaned back again and shook his head, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the scarf.

“It does not look standard,” he said. “It looks like it is choking you.”

I dropped my hand and shifted in the chair. Shane’s words from the night before came back with them, the familiar warning about keeping myself proper and not giving people reasons to look twice. I straightened the scarf instead of loosening it.

“It is fine,” I said, reaching toward the tray. “Do you need anything else with the meal?”

Stellan pushed the plate slightly away. He said he was not hungry and that the drink brought up earlier had tasted wrong. I offered to have the kitchen send something else, and when he refused that, I asked whether he wanted me to call the front desk for medical assistance.

“No,” he said sharply, then rubbed his forehead and lowered his voice. “Stay and tell me something normal about working here every day.”

I glanced toward the door. The gala noise felt far away up here, and part of me wanted to leave while another part was simply tired of rushing from one demand to another. I told him that hotel work was mostly routine, and he watched me as though he could tell there was more to the answer.

“It is work,” I said, resting my hands on the tablet. “Some guests are decent and some are not, so I handle what comes.”

“Home,” he said, looking down at the table. “What waits for you there?”

The question landed heavier than it should have. My thoughts went straight to Shane on the couch and the argument waiting for me about the money, the groceries, and why I had stayed late again. I assumed Stellan was only trying to fill the silence, so I gave him the safest part of the truth.

“Mostly bills and routine,” I said, rubbing my thumb along the edge of the tablet. “Nothing interesting.”

He watched my face carefully. His expression changed slightly, and he said that sounded like I was carrying more than the tray I had brought upstairs. I looked down at the tray and then toward the door, suddenly aware that I had stayed longer than I intended.

I stood and smoothed the front of my uniform. I told him I should get back downstairs before someone came looking for me. Stellan reached out and touched my wrist lightly before I could step away, and his fingers were warm despite the slight tremor in his hand.

“Wait just a little longer,” he said, his voice quiet now. “The room spins less when someone is talking to me.”

I froze at the contact. There were no demands in his voice and no irritation, nothing like the tone I was used to hearing when someone wanted something from me. I told myself it was the stress of the evening making the moment feel stranger than it was, and after a second I sat back down.

“What do you want to talk about?” I asked, pulling my wrist gently back into my lap.

He released me and settled against the chair. His gaze returned to the scarf, and he asked why I kept touching it whenever the conversation became uncomfortable. I looked down at my hands and realized he was right.

“It is a habit,” I said, lifting my fingers toward the knot again. “Long shifts make everything feel tighter.”

He watched me for a moment before leaning forward. “You look tense, Adeline. Like you’re bracing for something.” His eyes dropped to the cup of amber liquid on the table beside him, the drink he had poured himself earlier. He pushed it gently toward me across the polished wood. “Here. Have some of this.”

I looked at the cup, then at him. The liquid inside caught the dim light, and I recognized the color. It was the same whiskey I had poured from the decanter when I first set up his tray, the one he had said felt stronger. We did have stronger servings, actually.

“I shouldn’t,” I said, but my hand was already moving toward it.

“One sip,” he said, his voice soft but certain. “You look like you need it more than I do.”

I brought the cup to my lips and took a big gulp. The warmth spread through my chest, loosening something I had not realized was clenched so tight. I lowered the cup, blinking rapidly as I set it back on the table, and when I looked up, Stellan was watching me with a faint, knowing smile and chuckled at my reaction.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“Good,” he said, settling back in his chair. “Now, start with the scarf. It looks tightly unsettling, just wrong. Loosen it. Let yourself breathe.”

My fingers went to the knot again, but this time I untied it completely, letting the fabric hang loose around my neck. The air felt cooler against my skin, and I exhaled slowly.

We talked longer than I planned after that. Nothing became deep, and I did not tell him anything I could not explain away later. He asked about the hotel routines, I answered, and when I asked what had brought his group to the event, he gave vague answers about business and the rivalry between the companies involved.

My phone vibrated in my pocket.

I ignored it.

A second vibration followed, then another, and I already knew who it was before I finally looked. Shane’s message filled the screen.

‘Are you ignoring me?’ – Shane

I stared at it for a second before turning the phone off and placing it inside my bag. The small movement made Stellan look toward me, but he did not ask who had been calling. I stood, this time with no hesitation, and smoothed my uniform.

“I really have to go,” I said, lifting the empty cup from the table. “They will miss me downstairs.”

Stellan stood too, bracing himself against the table before finding his balance. He told me to come back if I got another break, then said my name when I reached the door.

I paused with my hand on the handle and looked back.

“Leave the scarf looser next time,” he said, his eyes clearer now. “It suits you better.”

I did not answer. I only nodded, then slipped into the hallway with the tray and let the door close behind me.

The noise of the gala rushed back as I walked toward the elevator. My wrist still carried the faint memory of his touch, while the scarf sat differently against my neck, loose and unbound. I adjusted it once, then stopped myself and let it remain where it was.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside with the tray balanced against my hip. As the doors closed on the quiet floor, I looked at my reflection in the elevator doors, and for a moment I could not remember why such a small exchange had made the night feel different.